


Sugar, We're Goin Down

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Anger, Angry Sex, Angst, Betrayal, F/M, Fingerfucking, Frenemies, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Mad Science, Past Relationship(s), Rough Sex, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Snark, Vaginal Fingering, Wall Sex, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2275164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you just can't choose your friends and your enemies are the closest thing you have. Spoilers for S3M23 (I'm With Stupid), and for the artifact from S3M38.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar, We're Goin Down

“Oh _yes_ , that's very good. Very impressive.”

Amelia rests her small, slim, smooth hand against Simon's cheek. Her eyes are sharp and intense, a pale blue like the cornflowers his nan had been fond of. She'd always kept a big vase of them on the dresser in the hallway. There's a smile on her lips, a little curl at the corner that's pretty but isn't exactly what he'd call nice. She tilts his head from side to side as she scrutinises his face.

His whole and healed face.

“Whatever else they might have done, Pandora Haze definitely had the right idea,” she continues. Her fingers continue their exploration; drifting down his jaw and throat, carrying on like he's actually paying that much attention instead of staring at the face in the mirror. His face. 

“It's wrong,” he says. He swallows, and he can see his Adam's apple bob in the mirror, the movement of his throat. He pokes his tongue out and runs it over his teeth which are no longer broken or missing, and the reflection does the same. And yet... “It's not right.”

The face looking back at him isn't him. He can't put his finger on why exactly. It's in the slope of his cheekbones, the twist of his lips, the straight line of his nose when he knows he broke it back in year seven in a fight with some kid who'd thought he could badmouth Simon's mum.

“Oh come now, Simon,” Amelia says, tucking her fingers beneath his chin and drawing his attention back to her. “You shouldn't complain about a miracle of medical science.”

He gives a harsh bark of laughter which becomes a manic giggle and covers his face with his hand, shoving hers away. “You think this is a miracle?”

Amelia raises an eyebrow, her smile widening to show off perfect teeth. “Isn't it? You looked like a corpse and now you look- well, you can see the mirror as well as I can.”

His gaze is drawn back to the mirror for a moment, the face that is sort of, but not quite, him. “Miracles don't happen to people like me. God doesn't forget.”

Not someone with so rotten a soul, ripe with sin.

Amelia Spens laughs. It's a nasal sort of sound, a condescending one that grates on him. “Whoever said that God was needed for a miracle? God never helped anyone. Human tenacity, that's what matters.”

Simon snorts, lips curling in a feral expression learnt from weeks, from _months_ of living like an animal. “Right lot of good it did them in the end.”

“Unfortunate circumstances, of course,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Such a pity. They could have made millions.”

“Unfortunate, right,” Simon says, the sarcasm bitter on his tongue. “That's what bureaucrats call the apocalypse is it? An unfortunate filing error?”

Amelia smiles at him, an expression that would be thoroughly disarming if he didn't know her better by now. “Would me crying and tearing my hair really make things better for anyone?” she says, and doesn't wait for an answer before continuing. “Cold hard cash moved the world once, and information does the same now. And people will pay a lot for this research.” Her smile brightens as she steps in towards him, the tips of her boots nudging against his feet. She raises a hand to touch his bare chest, the other resting lightly on his upper arm. God she's affectionate today when she's spent a lot of their time together trying to avoid touching him or looking too closely whenever he removed the mask or his hoof. Not that he can blame her for averting her eyes from his monstrosity.

And it feels good, being touched like that after so long.

“Of course you'd understand that, Simon,” Amelia says, “you're a businessman after all.”

His body floods with ice and he jerks away from that alluring warmth, the taunt digging deeper than any needle ever could. Assuming it is a taunt and not just what she genuinely believes of him.

Oh hell, he's never given her any reason to believe better of him. He won't make that mistake again.

“What's wrong, Simon?” She sounds sharp, impatient and the irritation grates on his nerves.

“That's what you're gonna do then? Sell it?”

“Of course,” Amelia says, clasping her hands in front of her. “It's about survival. Everyone has to put themselves first.”

“Not everyone,” Simon says, the words bitter on his tongue. He knows exactly what that selfishness feels like crawling through his skin. “Not Five. Not Jenny.”

“Ah yes,” Amelia says, wearing an expression that is not quite a sneer but is certainly somehow mocking, “Janine de Luca. It's a shame that such a smart woman doesn't have more vision. With her reputation for pragmatism, I thought that she would appreciate my efforts more. You and I, we know better.”

Simon's throat tightens and a hard lump settles there making it painful to swallow. He sucks in a harsh breath, feeling like it might choke him, and then turns and walks out. The corridors of the lab are stark white, lit by the occasional flickering fluorescent bulb. There are noises from behind some of the doors. Amelia hadn't wanted to check. Funny that. 

The sun blazes when he reaches the outside. It burns his eyes until he raises an arm to shield them, squinting into the light until they adjust to the unfamiliar brightness. He's not seen the sun much the last few months and he's got no hood to hide his face. He prefers to stick to nighttime now that there's nothing in there that can really harm him anymore. It's where a monster like him belongs. Wouldn't want to scare anyone.

He hears the tap of boots on the floor of the lab, the sound dulling when tile gives way to grass and packed earth. Amelia. 

He would kill for a fag. He hasn't smoked in years.

She stands a few feet away, visible out of the corner of his eye, and watches him intently. He pretends that he doesn't notice and tilts his head up to let the sun hit his face. It's blissfully warm.

“You know, now that I see you in real light, I rather think I realise what she saw in you.”

He stiffens and stills before exhaling slowly, a thousand hours of yoga finally making themselves useful beyond his vanity. “Oh aye?”

“Now that you're fixed, you are rather handsome.” Her gaze lingers unabashedly on his body and he is suddenly very aware of his lack of shirt and even more aware of the scars that haven't been healed; the bites and the marks he'd carved into himself just to prove that he could still bleed. The way she looks at him reminds him a little of Van Ark; the possessiveness is not dissimilar, although her reasons might be different.

He shakes his head and scrapes his hair back from his face. She's never been more wrong. “If you think a pretty face is Janine's main concern, then you're an idiot.”

Amelia laughs and it is a derisive sound. “Everyone has something that turns their head. It distracted her enough for your purposes. Isn't that what you intended, Simon?”

He moves before his brain catches up, before he has chance to think. He moves faster than he should be capable of, and when he grabs her, slams her against the wall of the building, it's like she weighs nothing. “That's _not_ what it was,” he snarls and he wonders if he bites her whether she'll scream, whether she'll _turn_. “That was _never_ what it was.”

There's not a flicker of concern in Amelia's eyes, even with his hands curled against her shoulders. She even smiles. “It isn't a crime to make the best use of a situation, Simon. Everyone does it.”

“You don't know anything about it,” Simon says hoarsely. Suddenly the ache of the loss is keen, a deep pit in his chest that nothing has managed to fill. 

“I know she wasn't enough to keep you from straying,” Amelia taunts him.

Simon's grip tightens and he leans closer until their faces are almost touching. “You think you _are_? You're nothing compared to her.”

“I think that you need me. I think that you need me an awful lot more. And people like us, we know our priorities.” She reaches up touch his face with one slim, pretty hand, but there's nothing sweet or tender about it, not when she digs her nails into new and fragile skin. “Or did you forget who got you this?”

“Don't need you now though, do I?” he hisses, feeling skin tear and blood seep up from the wounds. It feels so real after the searing, cleansing fire that regrowing it had been. “Don't need you at all. I could just get rid of you now. Put a bullet right in your pretty head.”

“You'd enjoy that wouldn't you?” Amelia replies. “More blood on your hands. Were you starting to miss the feeling?”

It's heat that surges through him at the accusation, scalding, twisting, vicious heat and the kiss doesn't seem so strange, not when the alternative is to rip her pale throat out. It's a harsh press of lips, a biting savage thing that has Simon pressing up against her, his hands sliding over her backside to lift her up to met him. She groans and wraps her legs around him, pulling him closer and she's got quite a grip on her, this one.

Janine had left bruises once.

The memory, unbidden and unwanted, stings like hell, so he bites down on Amelia's lip and tugs it until she hisses the same as he had when she'd scratched his face. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Her tongue flicks out over the sort spot and when he bothers to look, her eyes are wide and very dark.

“Be nice, Simon,” she says, one hand curling against the back of his neck. It only sounds half reproachful.

“If you wanted nice, Amy,” he says, rocking his hips against her for emphasis, “then you wouldn't be here with me.” He can feel the heat of her body against him, the sharp curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts and he knows he's not gonna last long like this, not when just being touched is something he's been denied for months.

“You like it a little rough do you?” Amelia croons. She drags him down for another kiss, one that leaves his lips tingling from the force of it. She doesn't do things by halves at least. Neither does he. Her back is against the wall, cold concrete supporting her as he slides a hand up beneath her shirt. Her skin is warm, and he doesn't remember feeling like he was burning up whenever he touched someone before. He cups one of her breasts over her bra, rolling it beneath his palm soft and giving beneath his hand. Amelia groans and shifts against him. She tugs on his hair and it's a light tug, but for a moment it's enough like Janine to make heat spike through his belly and his dick in anticipation. She does it again, harder this time, following the noise of need that he makes and swallowing it down. 

“Thought you wanted _nice_ ,” Simon hisses, his lips against hers and his hand against her breast a little firmer.

“You've never wanted nice in your life,” Amelia replies and her lips curl in satisfaction when another tug of his hair makes him cry out. “You like it. You get off on being the monster. Or is that being a martyr?”

It cuts and cuts deep. Simon jerks against her, his eyes widening at her words, but he's still hard, harder even. Amelia laughs and grinds down against him, bracing herself against his shoulders. “That's it isn't it? You want to die on your cross and revel in the agony of it all.”

“That- I don't-” he begins, before he growls in frustration and rocks upwards to meet her body with his own, feeling his dick press right against the heat of her. “Fuck you,” he snarls and he'd strangle her like the snake she is if it wouldn't leave him alone.

“How observant,” Amelia sneers and she reaches for the button of her trousers, trying to shuck them down her legs when she's still got them wrapped 'round him. That isn't gonna work. Won't work at all and just the way his jogging pants are rubbing against him is maddening. He doesn't let her go though, just tugs his own trousers down enough that there's one less layer of material when he rubs against her, hard and desperate. It's not perfect but it's enough. Anything is enough right now. Amelia wraps her arms around his neck, presses her face against his shoulder to nip at his throat while they rub and thrust and rut against each other like a couple of horny teenagers. 

He slips a hand over her hip and down into her underwear. She bucks senselessly against him, giving a breathy cry when he touches her, fingers finding her clit, finding her wet and hot already. Her pretty, neat nails leave scratches against his shoulders when he presses them inside her, and a twist makes her cry out, the noise muffled against his neck.

“You like that,” Simon says. “What does it make you if you get off on being screwed by a monster, Amy?”

He's not gentle when he touches her, his movements rough, close to desperate, the way that his fingers crook inside her and slide against her, teasing out those little moans and cries. She's more vocal than he'd expected, and he'd worry but she's the only one gonna get in trouble if her noise brings the zoms. He's done that part already. 

He drags it out as long as he can, losing himself in heat and in her body and a place where even just for this, he's wanted. He might be a monster, might be dripping in sin, but he's not alone. 

His stamina's not what it used to be. He thinks maybe it burned up along with the rotten remains of his face. It's not long then before the tight coil of heat and need in his belly unfurls and he comes with a cry that he muffles against Amelia's hair. He almost loses his balance, legs weak like he's a teenager again, getting off with the wrong people behind the sheds after Sunday School. His breath comes in harsh rasps and for a moment he thinks it's all for nothing, he's damaged again, but they even out and the panic with them.

“Simon!”

Amelia's voice, sharp and impatient and she gives his neck a hard nip as well while she grinds down on him, Demanding isn't she? He's got half a mind to leave her like this, just to prove that he doesn't need her. Not her, not anyone. He can just take what he wants and leave and who's gonna stop him? Who's she gonna go running to? Abel won't have her. 

Abel won't have him either. No-one will.

It's frustration that drives him on, he's sure of it, when he starts to move again, his thumb stroking her clit while his fingers move inside her, fucking her and smearing slickness over that delicate skin of hers. 

She comes as loudly as she does everything else, all bluster and a million miles from ladylike; a shriek of pleasure as she tightens around his fingers. Her body tenses against his, and that's quite a feeling, even when he's already come. Jenny, ah, Jenny would have kept him on the edge for ages yet, dragged out every drop of pleasure. Amelia's not that kind of girl.

She slides down off him as soon as she's coherent, and tugs up her trousers over the damp material of her pants. She leans back against the wall and gives a tight smile that doesn't do her face any favours. “Well, that was...”

“A mistake?” 

“I was going to say memorable,” Amelia replies. “I said that we made quite the team, even if your personality leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Like you're sunshine and roses yourself love,” Simon says and he bares his teeth. 

“It's only because of me that you've got a face anyone would find worth looking at again.” It's all matter of fact to her, cost-benefit analysis and he wishes she sounded vicious. 

“Yeah well, get a good look. It'll be the last thing you see when I shove a knife into your heart.”

“Careful Simon, I might get ide-”

There's a howling snarling hungry sound from the woods that border the compound, and something weird like a musical note. They both whip around to face the noise. Amelia shifts her weight uneasily. “Perhaps now would be a good time to head inside again. We should probably check your recovery.”

Simon stares into the forest. “Yeah. Just what I want, to be stuck in an enclosed space with you.”

“Well, I'm sure you'd love to be trapped with Janine, but you rather burnt that bridge didn't you?”

She smooths down her t-shirt, like she's forgotten that it's not a blouse, and stalks away, that one last shot fired.

Simon looks down at his left hand, the skin still pink and tender where it had grown anew. “Yeah, I did didn't I Jenny?”


End file.
